


You Love Me Right?

by ALovelyDeath



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Comedy, Gay Male Character, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Underage Drinking, possibly occ, practically the whole of the ccg will be in here at some point, they are literally awful to each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALovelyDeath/pseuds/ALovelyDeath
Summary: A collection of stories exploring Ui and Hairu's working relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to explore their relationship for a while now and from that this fic was born. I have no idea how long it'll be but I have the next few chapters planned and just need to be written. I took some liberties with Hairu's character because we know so little about her.

Hairu hates meetings. They are stuffy things with too many formalities, too little progress, and boring.

Luckily for her at her rank she doesn’t have to attend too many of the stuffier ones, but this is one of them.

She’s not really paying attention, listening to Yoshitoki speak and jotting notes without retaining any of what’s being said. Her notes should help her after, and if not she can always beg Ui to go over things. He’ll bitch and drag his feet, reprimand her like he always does but ultimately help her out.

Speaking of her partner he’s seated across from her, holding a cup of coffee to his mouth as he stares at the board with a dull look.

Her foot can just reach his if she stretches and she bats at his feet in an attempt to get him to play footsy with her. He scoots his feet under his chair and gives her a withering glare before his face settles back into its permanent resting bitch face. Plan ruined.

She pouts.

_Does anyone pay attention in meetings?_

A quick glance around tells her that the majority of people are, in fact, listening to what’s going on with more attention than she’s giving.

It occurs to her to continue taking notes, so it at least looks like she’s paying attention. She’s learnt to nod her head occasionally or make small changes to her features in these long meetings to make it look like she’s still attentive. Though if anyone were to look at her notes they would see a gradual lessening in quality.

“From here this will create a pincer attack,” Yoshitoki draws a line in red marker up the meticulously drawn map on the whiteboard, merging the two lines together.

The majority nod their heads in agreement and she makes sure to do the same.

“That’s no good,” Ui mutters into his coffee cup, “if there’s a pocket of ghouls in that space we’re fucked.”

It’s not meant to be heard, Hairu can tell, but she can’t resist the opportunity.

Grinning widely and putting her chin in her laced fingers she says in a sweet voice “speak up Princess Ui I can’t hear you with all that pillow in your mouth.”

The reaction is better than she could have hoped for. He chokes on his coffee making a _gak_ sound before spewing his mouthful of the hot liquid all over the table. His face is beet red.

Dead silence.

Ui is positively _fuming_ while others look either shocked or surprised in his direction. The few not looking at Ui are giving her inquisitive looks. Or look incredibly displeased. The latter being Matsuri Washuu. But he’s a stick in the mud.

“Uhhh…” Juuzou begins.

“Oh what you guys have never heard the term?” Hairu says with a light giggle.

“Hairu I hardly think this is an appropriate time.” Matsuri coughs.

Not even batting an eye or showing any acknowledgement that Matsuri had spoken she continues, “A pillow princess is a submissive gay man that lets the top do all the work.” She recites, holding her index finger up to make herself look more scholarly.  She sounds no more interested than she would explaining a medical term.

Ui slams his head against the desk groaning in a manner most unlike his workplace attitude. It’s the behaviour she would expect from him after a few drinks in his apartment. He lays his head against the desk and doesn’t move. All eyes, now wide, turn towards him.

Matsuri seethes near the head of the table. Visibly crimson and scowling deeply.

Yoshitoki, desperate to take control and reclaim the attention of the member’s present clears his throat. “Um, thank you for that…enlightening explanation Hairu. Now, moving onwards.”

* * *

 

Ui is one of the first out the door when the meeting is finally adjourned. He hasn’t quite recovered from Hairu’s announcement earlier and his hands are shaking as he leaves.

She spots him on her way back to her desk, down a perpendicular hallway, chatting with Fura. Probably going out for a smoke.

She makes sure her partner’s back is turned to her before launching herself down the hallway. Crashing into his back from behind she throws her arms around his midsection and clings to him tightly.

“Kooooooooori,” she sings, nuzzling her face into her superior’s back fondly.

He grunts as he suddenly gains 58 kilograms dangling off him. “What?” he snaps.

She smiles up at him, her typically sleepy eyed expression suddenly very innocent and childish. “You love me, right?”

With a deep, long suffering sigh he regards her a moment before affectionately petting the top of her blonde head. “Yeah,” he says with another sigh, “I do. Now get off me. I need a smoke.” He looks peeved, but more than that he looks stressed.

She disentangles herself from him and retreats backwards back down the hallway the way she came.

When she’s rounded the corner she stops and pokes her head back around the edge. “Enjoy your smoke princess.” Her fingers give a small wave.

Ui stops abruptly in the middle of the hallway. Despite the distance she can clearly see Ui’s face when he turns back to look at her. He gives her a hard look that she knows spells trouble for her later but she can’t stop herself from grinning widely.

She laughs.

* * *

 

“Am I still coming over after work?” Hairu asks Friday morning as she hands in a report.

He glances over the report, humming in affirmation of her question.

“Should I come right after work or….?”

Putting the papers down he looks at her, reclining comfortably in his chair. A steaming mug of coffee sits on the desk in front of him and her lips twitch at the memory of Monday’s meeting. She wonders if he ever got that coffee stain out. She will have to tease him about it later.

“You may as well just ride with me. I brought the car today. We can get dinner on the way.”

“Great!” She exclaims. “I was thinking Korean!”

Nodding in agreement he makes a shooing motion with his hand and tells her to get working.

As Hairu is sitting down in her chair a thought strikes her. Ui hasn’t lectured her yet, nor has he made any major attempt to get back at her after the stunt she pulled earlier in the week. Namely the pillow princess stunt. But he has been working her harder than usual and ‘accidentally’ forgot to bring cash with him when they got lunch at a restaurant. Plus he put salt instead of sugar in her coffee Tuesday morning.

Now that she thinks about it the salt in the coffee has been the most active attempt at revenge.

_He’s going to make me pay for dinner or lecture me on the way to his apartment. That’s why he’s giving me the ride,_ she thinks to herself.

* * *

 

Correction.

She had to pay for dinner and was lectured on ‘proper meeting behaviour’ on the way to the liquor store.

She’s sitting shotgun in his car with a warm bag of Korean food on her lap. They’re currently idling outside a small business complex that houses a small grocery store, a pharmacist, and most importantly, a liquor store.

“Whiskey?” he asks, ashing his cigarette onto the pavement.

Hairu nods and fishes for her purse’s shoulder strap with her feet. The way things have been going she’s expecting to have to pay for this trip as well. _I should just give him my credit card._

With a flick of his fingers Ui sends his cigarette to the pavement and reaches for his wallet in the middle console.

Then he wags his fingers at her impatiently. “You know the deal.”

She sighs and fishes the money out, shoves a bill in his hand. She doesn’t have any smaller bills on hand so he’ll have a fair bit of change, but not enough to buy himself a bottle.  Safe. And he knows her favourite brand by heart.

“Buy yourself something nice with the change!” she calls from the car, laughing.

Finished stomping out his cigarette he gives her a dirty look. And the finger.

That only makes her laugh harder.

A few minutes later he returns with two bottles of whiskey and a new pack of smokes.

“So you did buy yourself something nice with the change.”

He flashes a label at her. An unfamiliar one.

Taking the bags from him she takes the one with the unfamiliar label out to examine it further as Ui gets in.

As he reverses she says, “splurged a little, did we?”

The corners of his lips tug up. “More like you did.”

“What?”

“It’s yours.”

“WHAT!”

“Check the other bag. It’s my brand.” He’s wearing a full smile now as he flicks on his blinker to pull out of the parking lot and into traffic.

With a sinking stomach Hairu checks the other bag. It’s Ui’s brand, one that she hates. Fuck.

“Koooooooooooooori” she whines in despair, making her best pouty face, “why didn’t you buy my label?”

Obviously trying to hide his smile he replies calmly, “I thought you deserved something nice. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“Yeah with my money!” She exclaims. “You could have asked me first!”

He snickers and lights up another cigarette while waiting for a light. Taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke elegantly out the window he finally says, “It wasn’t that much more expensive than your brand and you’ll notice a difference.”

She checks the change he had put in the space between their seats. She counts. Fucking bastard. “You’re dead” she growls.

He laughs. “Hush,” he chides, “wait until you try it first.”

* * *

 

Ui carries the booze upstairs, leaving Hairu to juggle her purse and the enormous amount of food.

For someone who doesn’t spend a lot of time at home Ui’s home is cushy. It’s modern and luxurious and frankly, larger than necessary for one person. But she expects nothing less from him.

Hairu takes a seat in her usual spot at his table, grabs one of the Styrofoam containers, pops the lid open and uses the plastic fork provided by the restaurant to shovel a mouthful in.

“What are you doing?! Don’t you have any manners?!” Ui exclaims when he turns around to face her, his hands full with two plates with forks and knives stacked on top of each other.

Another forkful is already on the way to Hairu’s full mouth as she pauses and twists slightly to grin sheepishly at her superior. Struggling to swallow she says, “Usually, but I’m starving. You’re lucky I bothered to use a fork.”

Grimacing Ui pulls the container away and slides a plate to take its place. “We’re sharing so I would like it if you _didn’t_ eat straight from the box.”

Hairu waves a hand dismissively but uses the serving spoon Ui provided to scoop out a portion to her plate. “Yeah, yeah whatever. Girls have cooties, I get it.”

Without a further comment from her partner Hairu eagerly resumes shovelling food in her mouth as fast as she can.

Ui stares at her with a look of disgust, but also awe. Mouth agape and fork poised over his plate. “You’re going to choke,” he says bluntly.

Pausing in her ferocious eating to take a sip of water she says, “at least I’ll die happy.”

“You’re so expensive to feed,” he complains. “You’re going to eat me out of house and home.”

“Like you can’t afford it! Mr. Special-Class born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”

Taking advantage of the fact that his fork is currently in his mouth Hairu lunges across the table to skewer one of his prawns with her own fork. She pops it quickly in her mouth with a smile while Ui glowers.

“What was that for? You have six prawns on your own plate.”

“They always taste better from someone else’s.”

“You fucking bitch. I hate you.”

“Strong words for stealing a prawn,” she remarks, laughing.

After dinner Hairu clears the table and washes their plates in the sink while Ui prepares the space for dyeing her hair.

Changing out of her work clothes to something more comfortable Hairu examines the box of dye, checking the directions idly. She puts on the cape and is in the midst of smoothing it out when Ui finishes.

“Ready?”

She claps her hands in excitement and hops on the barstool. “Yes!”

“No trim, right? We’re just dyeing it?”

“Yup!” She squirms on the seat only settling when she feels Ui flick the back of her neck, a reminder to stay still, and only vaguely feels the first brush stroke against her scalp, painting its way down to the end of the strand.

Ui took to doing her hair a while ago, standing by her numerous hairstyles and colour changes, handling all her trims, cuts and dye jobs. He only ever steps back to let a professional handle it when the job is complicated.

He’s so good at it she has wondered if he had considered a hair dressing job before choosing the CCG. Or if he learnt it as a way to save a buck so he can spend more on clothes. It certainly isn’t because he or his family is hard pressed for cash.

There’s a reason she calls him her silver spoon child, despite him being her senior.

He had taught her how to properly cut hair so she could trim his hair. For the most part he does his own and does a good job of it but she’s had to fix the back – the trickiest area to cut yourself- a number of times. As he grew to trust her skills he’s allowed her to trim his hair entirely by herself. And so their monthly ritual of trimming each other’s hair was born. She comes over for drinks and a trim, and after he’ll give himself a trim and get her to inspect it immediately to avoid any embarrassment.

It's not that he doesn’t go to the salon. He does. But he says with his busy schedule he has trouble fitting in a proper appointment and learnt to trim it himself when it gets to be too long between appointments.

“Done.” Ui proclaims, snapping her out a trance she hadn’t been aware she drifted into. “Now just sit for fifteen minutes to let the colour soak. I’m going for a smoke. When the timer rings go shower. If you get any dye on my white towels, I’ll skin you.”

She nods sagely.

He leaves her a magazine on the counter, just within reach. It’s a men’s fashion magazine. Hairu has never had much of an interest in fashion, but she would take a male fashion magazine over a scrapbooking catalogue any day. Or worse, a horse riding catalogue.

The timer dings and Hairu slides off the stool, tosses the magazine to the counter and dances her way to the bathroom door, shaking her hips and bobbing her head as she goes. From the bathroom closet she grabs two towels and slides to a stop in front of the shower door.

She shimmies out of her clothes, casting herself a fleeting glance in the mirror she sticks her tongue out at her reflection. Her hair is a red goopy Hershey-kiss mess.

Washing hair dye out has always been an odd source of fascination for Hairu, watching whatever colour has been put in, run over her body. In this case the colour is red. Red like fresh blood. The streams follow the contours of her body, slowly turning pink before turning clear. When the water runs clear she takes it as her cue to start the shampooing process.

She hums to herself to pass the time in an otherwise tedious process. Humming eventually spirals into full blown singing at the top of her lungs. She’s not a terrible singer, not great, but at least her voice isn’t eardrum shattering.

Stepping out of the shower Hairu reaches for the mottled towel and wraps her hair up. Its off-white colour is a testament to her many dye jobs, splattered here and there with whatever dye was left even after washing.

She pats her body dry quickly and then sets to work on her hair. Bent at the waist she frisks her hair with the towel at high speed. Coming up she stops dead when she catches her reflection.

In what she will later classify as a complete overreaction, she screams.

Throwing on her clothes she stomps out of the bathroom and down the hallway to the main living area.

“KOORI!” She screeches, zeroing in on the slim man in the kitchen putting away leftovers.

He looks up at the ungodly screeching of his partner and can’t hide the smug smile that spreads across his face.

“What?” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but she is having none of it.

“It’s pink! PINK!” She wails, balling her hands into fists.

He chuckles, putting the last of the leftovers in the fridge. “So it is.”

“You did this on purpose!” she accuses.

Paying her no mind Ui grabs his pack of smokes off the counter and heads for the balcony, ignoring the indignant screaming of his partner behind him. The door, though glass, does an excellent job of quieting the screams.

“IT’S PINK! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE RED!”

Angry tears roll down her cheeks and she wipes them away quickly in an attempt to pretend they don’t exist.

Hairu watches him light his cigarette and suck. After his first exhalation, he looks back and the smug look on his face vanishes when he catches sight of her tears. He visibly sighs and she watches his mouth form the words “oh fuck” before beckoning her with a hand.

Hairu never cries, so the fact she’s crying now is a testament to how upset she is.

Sniffling pathetically, she opens the sliding glass door and joins him. “It’s pink,” she wails at him.

 “That’s for telling everyone I was pillow princess you bitch.”

“Not fair! You made me pay for dinner and whiskey, and you worked me like a slave all week!”

“You revealed I was gay to our coworkers! In a meeting! With the bureau chief!”

“Please no one cared,” she waves away his concerns dismissively, too preoccupied in her own disaster to care. Her hair is more important right now. She examines a strand of hair between her fingers. It really is quite pink. “Matsuri looked interested.”

He snorts. “Matsuri is a married stick in the mud.”

She reaches and plucks his cigarette from his fingers to take a drag. As she exhales she hands the cancer stick back to him. Hairu isn’t a smoker but she’s been known to steal a drag or two from a co-worker on occasion.

Somehow it’s calming.

“I hate pink,” she mumbles.

“It doesn’t look bad.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not. Give it a few days and if you still hate it I’ll dye it that deep slutty red you wanted.”

“Really?”

He sighs deeply and hums his affirmation. Squashes his cigarette out in the ashtray.

Hairu is still rightfully grieving and furious over how her hair turned out. However once Ui made his case, she’s able to find the whole situation a bit more humorous. _It was a good revenge plot._ That doesn’t change the fact that her hair is bubblegum fucking pink though.

Once inside Ui puts her on the couch and tells her to stay put. Thrown over the back of the couch is a god awful _ugly_ horse themed blanket of wild horses running through a field. She internally cringes every time she sees it. But it’s ridiculously warm. And one day she hopes she’ll accidentally spill a drink over it while drunk and he’ll have to get rid of it.

She takes the blanket off the back and wraps it around her like a cloak, pulling it down over her eyes to hide her hair. She doesn’t want to think about what Arima will say when she goes back in to the office and sees him again. It’s too embarrassing. She had wanted a deep sultry red because she thought Arima would like it.

Pink is…girly.

Ui returns just as she finishes settling comfortably back in the couch. Setting his drink down on a coaster, he holds her drink just out of reach and rips the blanket off her head.

Making a disgruntled noise she pouts up at him as he hands her the drink. Whiskey on the rocks. 3 cubes.

“Nooooo I’m hideous.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “you’re not hideous.”

She scoots over to make room for him, knowing he likes to sit near an arm. “I _am._ ”

He sighs and reaches for his drink. He opens his side to her and she takes the invitation, nestling up against his chest.

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye he takes a sip of his drink before setting it to rest on the end table and remarking, “you’re pathetic.”

It’s not a harsh comment, rather his tone is fond and the hand in her hair is gentle.

“You’re so mean,” she whines. “I’m depressed over my hair and you’re calling me pathetic.”

“Because you are. Now drink up.”

She glances at the glass clasped in her hands warily, “it’s straight…”

He chuckles drily, takes another sip of his own. “I want you to see the difference in quality before you start mixing.”

Adjusting herself to sit a little straighter she swirls the amber contents in the glass, contemplating, teasing, toying, before raising it to her lips and taking a moderate sip. She holds it in her mouth just long enough to feel the silkiness of the liquid on her tongue before swallowing.

She smacks her lips loudly in appreciation, “definite difference. Not worth the yen though.”

“You save it for special occasions you ill-bred cretin.” He scoffs. “Or…if your superior is trying to waste your money. Movie?”

Hairu nods and instead of putting his glass back on the end table Ui hands it to her as he goes for the remote, lying alone on the sofa opposite.

Big mistake.

Not wasting any time Hairu takes his glass and even though she hates his brand of whiskey she raises the glass to her lips and takes a large gulp. As she’s swallowing she decides _fuck it_ because there’s barely any left now anyway so she tips the glass the rest of the way back and finishes it off. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

It burns like hell and she sputters a bit, the head rush almost instantaneous. Clumsily she puts his glass on the coffee table and plasters a shit eating grin on her face.

When he turns, he takes one look at her face, her rosy cheeks and shit eating grin before chucking the remote at her. “You’re the worst,” he snatches up his glass and marches off to the kitchen.

“You’re the best!” she sings and then hiccups. He should know better than to hand her a glass of alcohol really.

By the time he returns she’s found a terrible American horror movie to rent and is nursing her glass like a pro.

She snuggles back up to him, clumsily draping the hideous horse blanket over his lap and drawing his arm across her shoulders.

“I won’t be able to do your hair for another two weeks or so.”

“W-will you give me time off until then? I’ll work from home,” she looks up at him, giving him her best puppy eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t want Arima to see me like this!”

“You deserve it.” His voice is frank and she moans, burying her face in his chest.

“I’m going to drown my sorrow in whiskey. Y’know no one would have taken my comment seriously if you hadn’t reacted _so obviously_ ” she announces sitting up and reaching for her glass.

“No. You’re not.” He says sternly, locking his arm around her waist and dragging her back down, “I think you’ve had enough for now. I’m not letting you get black out drunk again. Once was enough.” He ignores her other comment for the moment until the morning when she’s more sober.

His voice is stern but the hand in her hair is gentle and she lets it calm her.

“You’re so mean. I hate you.”

“But you love me. right?”

She huffs exaggeratedly. “I guess so.” She pauses then turns the question on him.

Giving a dramatic and very _Ui_ sigh he musses her hair and says, “Yeah I do.”

“You still love me, even though I told everyone you’re a pillow princess, right?”

“Yeah.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I don't agree that it's okay to publicly Out your friend or coworker to your other coworkers without their permission.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
